A Rock In The Water
by ZeroRequiem21
Summary: AU. The war of Camelot has ended, and with it comes a new age. Morgana has been defeated, and a single decision shifted a once set destiny. Only the decisions to come will define the years over the horizon.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey all! I've lurked around here for some time, and at last I've decided to put my writing into the fray of the wonderful world that is fan fiction. There are numerous things I've wanted to write, but never actually decided to go through with. So, I'm here now. I don't know what it is about Merlin, but I had an insatiable urge to begin this story. I'm extremely bothered with the events considering how the show began with a different view of the legend and then whoooossshhhh we just decided to go with the tragic legend all of a sudden. The focus of this story is about Morgana and Merlin in the aftermath of the battle between Mordred and Arthur. See, I never truly bought Morgana's sudden switch to the evil side. Felt cartoony and that she lost a lot of who she was as a character. We're talking about the king's ward who put her own life on the line to defend Merlin's home! And the writers are trying to convince me that she would SUDDENLY be okay with a whole bunch of innocent people dying? While I understand her fears and feelings of isolation, I felt insulted by the disregard of her character and that all they wanted to try and shove down my throat was destiny this, destiny that, Morgana's true nature is that of darkness and hatred. Callin' BS on that, she has a list of good deeds that run contrary to that belief.**

 **Jesus, Merlin, stop listening to bitter lonely dragons when it comes to life advice. Anyway, here is the prologue, I hope you all enjoy it.**

* * *

 **A Rock In The Water**

 **Prologue**

Arthur was dying, and despite the warlock's tremendous gifts there was nothing he could do. Merlin held the king tightly within his arms as the heart of Camelot began to fade. It was just the two of them, alone on the highest tower of the castle. The King was unconscious, drifting into a state of peace that Merlin both dreaded and envied.

Merlin should have been able to see the stars glinting in the night sky, but the smoke of battle veiled the light from his sight. The clang of swords and dying screams had quieted. Camelot's flags still swayed in the wind, albeit dirtied by smoke and blood. Fires burned the castle, yet they had been victorious.

But within the silence, there was nothing but sorrow aching through Merlin's bones.

Bards would forever weave the tale of King Arthur, the man who pulled sword from stone, the man who loved a commoner, the man who defeated the darkness. It was a bittersweet song, but Merlin could feel none of its sweetness. He felt death, and saw death. He witnessed the hesitant duel of friends, of Arthur and Mordred, of friends turned foe by the twisted hand of a cruel fate.

Destiny delivered triumph, but in the slow breathing of Arthur's finality Merlin could only remember friendships of days long past. Memories made clear, a future they had lost.

That's when he heard the footsteps, and his head whipped upwards. Merlin could no longer recognize what he saw, who he saw. It was her. The darkness to his light, and the hatred to his love.

"Morgana." Merlin whispered. The lady of the dark appeared unarmed, but Merlin knew better. There were always black secrets hidden underneath her cloaks.

Morgana pulled back her hood. "And at last, it all comes to an end." She spoke with an unnerving calm, a voice severed from the warmth Merlin once fondly remembered of her.

"Your army has fallen. Mordred is dead. Why have you come here?" Merlin felt his anger rising. He was surprised by the shamefully tight grip in which he held Excalibur, and elsewhere within him was self-loathing disgust for his confident desire to use it.

"You know well the answer to that."

Merlin bristled. "Is that what this was all for, just to see him die?"

She shifted a hand beneath her cloak, and revealed a dagger. Her fingers grasped around its handle with murderous intent. "The last Pendragon will die, and magic can return to the world."

He tried to see her as her friend, as the Morgana he once knew. However, her eyes were steel, cold as winter and closed off from regret or love. Just as he had told Gaius many years ago, Merlin could only feel immeasurable sadness for Morgana. "Look around you, Morgana!" Merlin roared, causing Morgana to jump in sudden surprise.

People wept over the bodies of their loved ones. Friends, family, it did not matter. Fires raged, eating away at homes and destroying memories. Blood. Lots of blood, and the unmistakable silence; empty and crushing. "What did these people do to you? They're dead because of you and your thirst for vengeance. Uther is gone, so why do you still fight? Do we mean so little to you? Arthur. Guinevere. Me…" We were friends once, he wanted to say but didn't.

Morgana glared at Merlin, the magic burning in her eyes; irises flared with venomous hatred. "What's done is done, Merlin. Arthur killed under Uther's orders even when he knew it was wrong."

Merlin could not deny that.

"You killed my sister, and when I thought you were my friend… believed you to be my friend. It was then that you poisoned me."

He had no words in answer. Morgana spoke truth, but she denied her own actions. Nevertheless, Merlin answered. "I blame myself for what you've become." Merlin stood up and held Excalibur within his hands, gripping the hilt hesitantly as he stepped between her and Arthur. "The only thing I can do now is to end this." To end the pain of her hatred, it was the last thing he could do for a friend.

Morgana laughed. "No mortal blade can harm me. Arthur shall die, and then I will return for the throne." She darted quickly with the dagger, stabbing at Merlin. He dodged and struck the dagger, shattering it into pieces. A common sword should not be able to break an enchanted weapon. Morgana stared at Merlin in shock. Suddenly, she could feel the power emanating from Excalibur, the dragon's magic that forged the blade. She stepped back in fear. "Where did you get that?"

Merlin moved toward her. "I've always had it, and you know what this sword can do." He prepared to strike.

Fear nearly crippled her, but Morgana wondered why she should be afraid. Merlin was but a man without magic. "No!" She cried out, and her power was released, raising her hand to face him. The witch chanted a spell.

The spell backfired and the shockwave flung her backwards. Morgana grunted in pain when her back smacked the stone behind her. She looked up to see Merlin holding his hand out, his eyes ablaze. "You…" Morgana spoke in quiet shock. "You have magic? But how? When?"

"I've always had it." Merlin said again. He raised the sword for the final stroke, the final chime that would put an end to painful times. Instead, the stroke fell short, and he saw fear in Morgana's eyes. The same fear that destroyed her, the same fear he nurtured by leaving her isolated. It was another betrayal, for now she knew she wasn't always alone.

"What are you waiting for? Do it!" Morgana spat, screaming at him.

"Leave." Merlin said.

"What?" She couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly.

"Leave." Merlin said again, with tears falling down his cheeks. "Leave here, Morgana, and never come back."

"I will-"

"No!" Merlin's shout was enough to shake her, to make the tower itself quake beneath their feet.

Morgana had never seen such anger in him before. Merlin was never the person to display rage or hatred, but his tears disarmed her the most.

"You will leave Camelot, and never come back. We are no longer friends, but I spare you now out of memory of what you used to be, of who you used to be. The Morgana I knew helped a lowly servant protect his home in an impossible battle. She was willing to sacrifice her own life for a friend." Merlin could not bring himself to kill her, even if that Morgana was dead as far as he could see. "She tried to save the innocent, not butcher them for the sake of vengeance. She would never have turned on her friends. We make our own choices, and you chose. You chose Uther's path."

Morgana flinched at Merlin's last comment. Every emotion swirled inside of her, and she tried to strike out at him but his magic held her still.

"I spare you, but not without a price. Morgana le Fay, I curse you! I curse you with the ghost of every person you've ever murdered, I curse you with the never-ending haunts of your evil, and in so doing I curse myself with the regret of my betrayal of you. Now leave, and never return. I never want to see your face again." He burned with magic and sealed the enchantment he placed upon her.

The words froze her. Merlin never spoke so harshly to anyone, no matter their crime. Leave, he had said. Never come back. Morgana stood up and held his gaze.

Merlin saw a small sign of wetness around her eyes.

The dark witch uttered a spell and vanished into darkness.

Merlin relinquished Excalibur, letting the metal clang against stone beneath him. He returned to Arthur and brought his friend back into his embrace. His hands reached for lightness in the dark, for comfort in the storm, but in the dread quiet Merlin could not stop his sobs.

Camelot had won the war.


	2. The Long Climb

**A/N: Out with the second chapter earlier than I expected. Will this be a Mergana fan fic? Who knows, my dear readers. Only time will tell, but what you will learn with me is that I live by one major rule as a writer. Everything is earned. Morgana will be learning that the hard way. Enjoy!**

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She evaded their fury in the forest, in no small part due to the blizzard hiding her within its blinding white jaws. Morgana felt grateful to lose the angry shouts calling for her blood, and no longer saw the mob of torches scouring the land behind her like the witch hunters of old. But, even in her reprieve the witch could still feel pain. Morgana bled from her side where a deep gash carved across her hip, soaking her robes with crimson life.

Her heavy, exhausted breath fumed steadily in the crisp air. She may have escaped the pitchforks and knives, but the blade of wintry wind cut just as deep and just as harsh. Morgana rested against the trunk of a dead tree, shivering. The mountain was not far, but her wound cruelly reminded her how much further she had to go. She placed a hand to the gash then looked at the blood staining her palm. If only she had the time to heal herself here. Violent voices from the distance destroyed that hope.

With the brief time Morgana had, she ripped a piece of cloth and wrapped it around her waist. She tied a knot, then gritted her teeth. The pinching pull of the makeshift bandage nearly made her scream in pain, but she held it down. Morgana bit down on her lip, holding back tears. The wound burned. Agony momentarily blinded her, forcing her to glance around in panic. Her sight cleared, and fright faded. Morgana looked upwards from the woods. Not far away the silhouette of the Feorre Mountains stood, their great heights appearing lonely but unmoved by the wind's persistent roar.

A tremendous hillside confronted her with its perilously steep incline. She had run for hours with the wound in her side before bandaging it, and another hour after her momentary rest. Morgana could hardly breathe. Every second, she desperately sucked in wind to stay standing on her weary feet. Her heart sank from the sight of the sharply rising hill she had to climb.

On the previous stretch of her escape Morgana had to cover her tracks by kicking snow just to conceal the dripping blood from her side corrupting the pure white dust behind her. The freezing gusts cut her from all sides. There was no one but her, and nothing but the merciless chill stabbing into her spirit. It would be so easy to fall; so easy to collapse, crumple to the ground and descend into sleeping death. Morgana gazed upward and challenged the hillside. Morgana pushed on.

Light of day faded to inky darkness, but the winds kept howling as if in condemnation of Morgana's long march. She staggered up the hill, nearly being blown off her feet. Though the storm did not knock her off her feet, Morgana's poorly placed and exhausted footing did.

She crashed hard into the layer of snow, her knees collided with rock underneath, and her body began to roll down. Morgana crashed into jagged edges from the hillside, the sharp stone knifing icily across her back. She cried out in pain, and lashed out frantically. Luck allowed her to grab purchase to a rock, keeping her from falling all the way back to the hill's base. The witch was bruised at the knees, and bleeding from her back. Her feet, her legs, her entire body ached with severe pain, and her wound felt like fire at her core. It was a miracle that she got on her hands and knees, nearly buckling back into the ground. Loneliness whispered in her ear. She almost broke.

Still, Morgana fought back to her feet, and once more pressed on with the impossible climb.

* * *

A sliver of moonlight peered through the window and lit up Merlin's face. He looked out on Camelot, watching the slumbering city during its quiet hours when good people slept and only the bad doers or drinkers remained awake. Camelot was still recovering from the horrific toll of conflict, even a year beyond the Great Druid War. He could see the lingering solemnness etched on strangers' faces, and feel the losses still hovering like ghosts in the air.

He was tired from the constant work helping people, guiding Guinevere to rule a kingdom, and maintaining a servant's duties. It did, however, keep his mind from wandering to the dark places like it was now as he idly scratched the glass with a trailing finger. Sleep had eluded him this long year, and eluded him once more tonight.

Merlin turned his head at the sound of the door creaking open. Gaius' friendly face appeared, but he studied Merlin with concern. "Shouldn't you be sleeping, it's quite late you know."

"Can't."

"Again? Have you taken my sleeping draught?"

"It doesn't work, Gaius. I still have the nightmares."

"The last time I could not cure dreams, they were of a magic quality."

The warlock winced at the memory. "Not magic." Merlin lied. "They're not visions, if that's what you're wondering."

"Well, I just know so little about them." Gaius approached Merlin. "You never seem interested in enlightening me with the details of your dreams."

Merlin didn't intend on telling him tonight, either. Some things were better left unsaid. "Is the potion ready?"

Gaius watched Merlin patiently before sighing. "It is." From inside his robe, Gaius retrieved a vial with a glowing, golden liquid. "Has he made any progress?"

Solemnly, the warlock shook his head. "Hasn't even moved. Only sound he makes is his breathing." Merlin turned to the bed of the king's quarters, and beneath silk sheets and a warm blanket laid King Arthur; his truest friend.

"At least he is breathing. No changes to his wound?"

"No." Merlin remembered where the magic of Mordred's blade had struck, where the fell stroke opened a cut that did not stop bleeding. Arthur should have died that day, one year ago. Yet, here he was, still alive, if barely. "It closed up that day, and it's remained that way."

"Good, we will want to maintain that trend." Gaius uncorked the vial. "Help me lift his head."

Merlin did so, cupping the back of Arthur's hair and lifting him up. This had become a regular routine, giving Arthur different potions to wake him up. None of them worked.

Gaius gently opened Arthur's mouth, and poured the glowing liquid down until the vial was empty.

"Will this one work?"

"This is the strongest potion I have ever made, and with your enchantments, perhaps the most powerful elixir the kingdom has ever seen. It's been a year already. If this doesn't bring him back, nothing will."

Merlin gently rubbed his hand against Arthur's shoulder. There was hope when the wound had healed, but now that hope was wearing thin. "He'll make it. If there's anyone who can, it's him."

Gaius managed a weak smile for the sake of Merlin's comfort. "I suppose that it will be up to Arthur. A potion can only go so far in situations such as this. Sometimes, it is the will of the person that decides life or death."

"You better choose life, you royal prat." Merlin whispered. Whose armor would he clean without Arthur?

* * *

Arthur woke.

Arthur walked.

How long had he been walking? Arthur's mind wandered. He was still lost, lost amidst blinding mist so thick he could hardly see his own hands stretch out in front of his face. Well, this was just bloody brilliant wasn't it? He was the only one to get completely sidetracked while there was a damned war going on! Great work, Arthur, the true makings of a wonderful king.

But then, he remembered. The battle wasn't here. It was in Camelot, far away from these woodlands. Why was he here? When did he get here? How did he get here? It didn't make any sense. He couldn't hear swords singing their clashing verses, and thankfully, there were no screams. The absence of noise, however, had him deeply unsettled.

Arthur ran his gauntlets over himself. He was still armored and prepared for a fight. Slightly panicked, he reached for his sword, becoming greatly relieved when he felt its familiar hilt. The king drew his blade, and carefully traversed through the mist. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath his boots.

This had to be magic. Some sorcerer's work, he settled. "Morgana!" He called out, casting blame on the last dark magic user he knew. No answer came from the mists. "Merlin?" Still, there was nothing. He yelled out for Lancelot, for Gaius, for Guinevere. There was no one. Arthur was alone. "Well, at least I have my sword." He looked at it, and for the first time he noticed the thick crimson stains choking its steel. "What the bloody hell is-"

Coughing interrupted him. Arthur whipped his head around. "Who's there?" He was starting to really hate this whole thing about people not answering him. The cough came again, and this time Arthur followed its source. Heavy breathing, the cough again, and he discovered who it was. "Mordred." Arthur said, with sadness on his lips.

Mordred retched, coughed, and could hardly breathe as his chest heaved up and down. His side was torn apart where Excalibur had cleaved him. Blood painted the chainmail.

Arthur knelt beside his former friend. Their duel returned to Arthur, the last match between would-be kings. Arthur won, but he had been stabbed too. Startled, he looked for the gash where Mordred had hit him. It was no longer there. No wound, no blood. How? The last thoughts he had were his coming death, his orders to Merlin to crown Guinevere Queen of Camelot, talking to Merlin the final moments before drifting into a blissfully quiet sleep.

"Looks like…" Mordred tried speaking. "Looks like you beat me."

"I didn't want it to be like this."

"Neither did I." Mordred rested his head back and sighed. "Looks like you'll be alright though."

"What do you mean?"

"I think," Mordred coughed blood, "I think…"

Arthur tried to wipe as much of it off Mordred's face. "Don't strain yourself."

"I'm already gone, Arthur." Mordred said softly.

"No…"

"It was a killing blow, you remember. We both… we both know it." The druid prince took Arthur's hand. "It's alright, Arthur. This is how it is. I… I don't have long now. I'll be lost here for some time."

"Lost?"

"Until I find my way. I'm still lost in the dark." Mordred's words became quieter, and his breathing more labored and slow. "It's so cold, Arthur, so dark and cold…"

Arthur grabbed him. "Stay with me. Stay with me!"

"So cold…" Mordred's eyes closed the final time.

Arthur shook.

* * *

Morgana groaned in extreme pain, clawing her way up at the top of the hillside, and pulling herself at last onto flat ground. Her strength waned as the storm battered her. She escaped the mob, but now had to find shelter. From her view, there was none to be found in the unceasing blizzard. To make things worse, there was barely a drop left of her magical energy, having used most of it to keep her wound from killing her.

Morgana was lost. It was dark, and it was cold.

With the last of her magic, Morgana cast a spell to keep herself somewhat warm. It took the last of her will power to get back up, but she did it. From here, she staggered through the barrage of snow. She was going to die here, Morgana thought. She would die here, covered by nature's elements, lost, unremembered, and un-mourned.

She inhaled sharply and suddenly. Morgana squinted her eyes, and found a faint glimmer of hope in the distance. Light. A fire's light. It wasn't far. Morgana could make it.

A sudden wave of exhaustion shattered her. "No," Morgana said, "not now. Please not now." She pleaded despairingly to herself. With the last drop of her magic spent, Morgana's strength faded. Now, she was beyond the point of being burned out, she was on the doorstep of death. But, it wasn't far. She could make it.

The fire was far enough, and Morgana collapsed in a heap. She didn't even have enough energy to cry out for help. Instead, she reached out and clawed at the fading, blurring light in the distance, trying to reach it.

The light eluded her.


End file.
